I woke this morning feeling blessed to be in a wakeful condition. On the right side of the grass, gently re-entering the world from a dreamless sleep, annoyed only by a full bladder. The house was quiet. No one squawking on the pond. Slumbering world, the shifting shimmer of the water reflecting across the bedroom ceiling. Bliss. But it’s Thursday. My computer tutor will be here shortly and I’d best be presentable.
I left warm sheets for the closet, selected clothes, ambled into the bathroom for morning ablutions and climbed the stairs to my loft where you find me now. I sort my thoughts and let them come. When working on my book, my mind opens wide, knows what it wants on the page and writes for me. When working on the blog, it sits and thinks, no plan or purpose formulated. And then, sneaking up on me, it writes itself.
I scrolled through whatever news was on the aol page and laughed out loud. There was Michael Bloomberg schooling us on that shyster Donald Trump and his nasty business practices. Mama would say several unprintable things, like the pot calling the kettle black and didn’t that pop right into my mind. Mr. Bloomburg, Sir, she’d also say you are seriously lacking a pair of wings and a halo so stop selling what you haven’t got and likely never did. Have you not noticed there’s gambling in Vegas and dishonesty in politics, at which you are very skilled? In dishonesty, I mean. And are you not the one who thinks to decide the size of a serving of soda, and no salt, etc. for the rest of us stupids?
No, no. NO. That’s not going to be the focus of my day. I’ve taken a mini vacay from the noise of the media and the trending of idiocy. Today I will do what will be fun: my instructor has given me an unbelievable accolade about my writing skills, my turn of phrase, my need to be less terse and to stretch out, flesh out, the material. Stop with the dump and let her into the story. In other words, she wants more. I pay close attention to her and will adopt that permission without worrying about being too wordy. We can always cut words, but they must be there first.
My childhood, while difficult, was rich with discovery, the happy plight of the curious child. “Why” was my perpetual question, delivered throughout every day on every possible subject. Unfortunately, the word made my parents feel challenged. “Why” kept me in trouble nearly all the time. I wasn’t questioning their authority. I genuinely wanted to know why about almost everything. My parents were a mystery. Solving it would make growing up with them richer, fuller, deeper. In the orphanage I was encouraged to ask why. At home with two strangers it was punishable. “Because I said so” was their constant refrain. Well, sure. But why?
Eventually I stopped asking the offensive question out loud, silently held my tongue and only asked it in my mind. Turns out that was a safe choice with one problem: there was never an answer.
In today’s world why is now asked in multiples. By many. About tons of things. The answers remain elusive. Truth is ever harder to discern. Lies and liars color all horizons, and when discovered are greeted with a chuckle and a “ya got me!” Lies are very “in” and without penalty. No shame. No embarrassment. Place your bets. Make your choice. The hucksters are having us. We are the suckers in a monumental game with very high stakes.
The bed I vacated is looking very good. Maybe after a late lunch and before the daily welcomed bourbon or margarita. Ciao.